


To Himling: Part Four

by vetiverite



Series: To Himling [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Brain Injury, Brothers, Coma, Durin Family, Durin Family Angst, Durin Family Feels, Durincest, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Dwarven Ones | Soulmates, Dwarven Politics, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Espionage, Gentle Sex, Ghost Thorin, Ghost Thrain, Hurt/Comfort, Husbands, Intrigue, M/M, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Seizures, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Supernatural Elements, Tauriel? Who's Tauriel?, tropes tropes tropes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-11 11:02:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19927012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vetiverite/pseuds/vetiverite
Summary: The future that Fíli and Kíli want may not be the one they get.  When the threat of separation throws them into conflict, a new fate takes root.





	1. Honey-Sweet

**Author's Note:**

> Thousands of thanks to MSilverstar, for everything & all.

Summer began with a box full of bees. 

Fenja stood bristling in a corner of the kitchen, eyeing the tall wooden contraption. _This came for you,_ she announced. _I have no idea what it is and can’t imagine why you’d want it._

 _Beorn,_ said Fíli and elbowed his sibling. 

_Beorn,_ agreed Kíli. He approached the thrumming structure and slid its topmost wooden panel open a few inches. A lone honeybee the size of a sparrow emerged into the light. 

Fenja shrieked and snatched up a wooden bread paddle. 

_No, Fenja! Lll-look, it won’t even sting—_ Kíli scooped up the drowsy bee and petted its fuzzy thorax with one finger. _See? Nnnnno-nothing to fear._

 _I fear YOU,_ Fenja shouted. 

Nonplussed, the bee took to the air. Fenja let out a muffled squeak, but it chose to land on Fíli instead, clinging to his tunic like an old friend. 

Kíli whispered just loud enough for Fíli to hear: _It goes to him because he is sweet._

Fíli's ears flushed pink. 

Chuckling, Kíli dislodged the bee from his brother’s tunic. It was so tranquil, and he so gentle, it did not mind at all. He reached to feed it back into the bee box and slid shut the lid. As he stood back, Fíli leapt upon him and dragged him to the floor. 

_Haa!_

_Mim, my ribs._

_I can reach the highest shelf now._ Fíli kissed the top of Kíli’s head before knuckling it. _See? Too bad there’s nothing up there—_

 _Madmen,_ said Fenja. 

The brothers moved the box to the shady courtyard, and soon the bees established their own paths of traffic, traveling light and returning burdened with pollen and nectar-filled bellies.

___________________

From the start, the hive belonged to Kíli. He made it his province as naturally as he’d claimed bow and arrow for his own. 

_The bees like Kíli,_ Fenja said. Perhaps his deep hum of a voice put them at ease; perhaps they divined the patience that ran deep beneath his rashness— or maybe they simply felt tender toward him owing to the hurts he’d endured. They let him touch them with his bare hands and did not sting him even when he took their honey. 

But Fenja rightly divined loneliness in Kíli. _A person needs more than a brother and some bees,_ she told Dís, who sent for Simi the forge-master. Soon afterward, Torli, Skili, and Hahal began taking their noon meal with Fíli in the courtyard. 

Being not of Kíli’s age or acquaintance, Fíli’s friends did not know his _naddith_ very well. At first they all felt shy of the war-hero prince, the loner and stutterer. He was shy of them, too; despite Fíli’s best persuasions, he resolutely stuck to his bee skep at the courtyard’s far end. 

On the fourth day Torli strayed over to find out what made Kíli so stuck-up— and ended up tasting new honey. 

Once Kíli charmed and tamed them as only he could naturally do, the boys (like the bees) quickly accepted him as one of their own. They lured him down to the forge, where he found he preferred working iron to wielding it. In that fiery hive, he and Fíli made real things, solid things – friendships as well as sword blades and axe heads – and ghosts not yet vanquished by sword and shield perished readily upon the anvil.


	2. Drunken

One mild golden noon on the threshold of ale week, Ori and Nori appeared at the main gate in a barrel-laden pony cart. With them rode young cousin Gimli, Glóin's son. He looked quite grown up now, with a fiery new beard and a patriot’s zeal for all things Erebor. 

_Watch out for him,_ Nori muttered to Fíli under cover of an embrace. _He has a silly dwarfling's ideas about the war. He'll ask for tales of glory you might not want to tell._

 _We’ll see,_ replied Fíli. 

The guests came laden with gifts for the feast table: ropes of sausage and wheels of cheese, two sides of smoked mutton, hazelnuts and chestnuts for roasting, and four vast barrels of stout. _Well, what a nice lunch you packed,_ said Fenja. 

_But w-what all of YOU are going to eat?_ Kíli drawled, nonchalant. 

_Eat? My boy, we’re here to drink!_ Nori clapped him on the shoulder. _That is, if our dignified hostess does not object._

_If you fill it, my friend, I’ll empty it!_ retorted Dís, earning herself a salvo of cheers. 

By time-honored ale-fest custom, each Khuzd must prove their right to revel with an account of the past year’s labors. But Dís could not view war as honest work or battle scars as badges of accomplishment; she wished to buy oblivion with something other than the wages of grief. In the end – for no other deed than having written so many letters – she nominated shy Ori to tap the first keg. 

When not swilling or stuffing their faces, the young dwarves held axe-throwing contests and rode their ponies to neighboring fêtes. Every night they congregated in Fíli and Kíli’s room to sing and pass the bottle; every morning they swore off ale forever and begged Fenja for hangover remedies. But on the fourth day, Kíli slumped quaking to the floor and brought their revelry to a halt. 

_Weren’t his wounds terrible enough?_ Ori lamented. _Did Mahal have to afflict him further?_

 _I’m fffffine,_ Kíli interjected in a faint voice. 

_It’s better than it was._ Fíli held a cup of water to Kíli’s lips. _It came upon him more often and lasted longer before. He’s improved._

 _How stoic you all sound._

Dís shrugged. _That we are._

As for young Gimli, he appeared to be working out a mental sum— dividing heroism by suffering, perhaps, or reckoning the percentage of horror inherent in victory. Confronted with Kíli’s weary, waxen face, he did not seem to care much for the answer. 

Like his cousins before their uncle’s quest, he assumed that all warriors were glad and proud of their scars. But Fíli had brought him alone to Thorin’s shrine and stripped the gilt from his dreams of glory. _I would trade a year of my life for every stitch in my head if it could make me forget what I’ve seen,_ Fíli told him. 

When his time came, Gimli would heft his axe with a strong arm and a strong heart. But now and for the rest of their visit, he remained at Kíli’s side, trying his best to be useful. 

So it was that he stayed behind on the day of the hunt.


	3. Wounded

Had it been his choice, Fíli would have offered some other pastime. The hunt repulsed him and his brother now. But both knew well that Khuzd hospitality favors the guest’s wishes over those of the host. Nori and Ori desired an outing; their request must be granted. 

Then Nori asked to borrow Kíli’s bow. 

_I’ll find some way to frighten off the game,_ Fíli promised his distraught brother. But this assurance was not enough. 

_Come to Kíli,_ Gimli hailed the empty-handed hunters as they straggled wearily back at sundown. _Come to Kíli. He has fallen._

Once again the healers professed their inadequacy; once again time became torment. Clutching her head in desperation, Dís looked about the sickroom as if Kíli’s soul might still linger near his abandoned body. 

_Talk to me. Be truthful with me,_ Ori begged Fíli as they sat vigil. _You cannot possibly call Kíli improved now. I could help if only I understood more. Won’t you try?_

Fíli bowed double, pushing his fists against his aching middle. This was his answer. 

Gimli made it worse by describing what he had seen to any who would listen. _Before he fell, he went into a strange trance... He kept saying,_ They’ll kill her. _I don’t know what he meant by it..._

Fíli’s head sank even lower. 

He alone kept watch that evening, so he alone witnessed the moment of return. Kíli’s cheek twitched once, twice; then with a sudden indrawn breath he was there, looking around with tired, confused eyes. 

_Naddith, you frightened us,_ Fíli scolded, resorting to anger to hide his relief. 

_…hhhow long?_

_Only a day, but a day too long. Where did you go?_

Kíli sighed. _Woods._

_The woods?_ Fíli’s chest housed a tangle of suspicion. _Why?_

_...had to fffind her... our girl..._

Impatience blazed up high in the forge of Fíli’s heart. _Find her?! We couldn’t find_ you. _You left us._

_Had to._

_What do you mean? Didn’t you trust me? I told you I would stop them, and I did._

_But—_

_No, Zanid. I say what I mean; I keep my promises. And what do you do? You make yourself sick, scare everybody, and accomplish nothing._

_Nothing…?_ A kaleidoscope of reactions – disbelief, hurt, anger – flashed in Kíli’s eyes. But he didn’t protest; he simply withdrew behind the shutters of his soul. He was there, but he was not coming out. 

_Now look at you,_ jeered Fíli. _Disappearing again._

An iron hand gripped his bicep. _I will take it from here, Fíli,_ said Mother in her frostiest warning voice. She had overheard from the corridor. _Go see to our guests._

Every step downstairs led closer to dread instead of further away from it.


	4. The Sacred Doe

With no one eating, supper proved grim. Fenja attempted to soften the mood by telling the tale of the bee box, receiving only forced smiles in return. Presently Dís passed through the kitchen without looking at or speaking to a soul. All of the dwarves present knew exactly what message she meant to deliver. Obedient, Fíli put down his fork and knife and followed her to the courtyard. 

She wheeled on him the moment they were sufficiently distant from others’ ears. _Who is this woman that you and Kíli fight about?_ At Fíli’s confounded silence, her temper climbed. _Don’t look at me like that. I clearly heard you speak of a meeting in the woods. Kīli won't talk about it, so you had better. Speak quickly; my patience is thin._

If his tongue were not an ingot of cold lead in his mouth, Fíli would have laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Was this how Kíli felt when he could not push words out? 

_There is no woman. She— we saw a doe…_

_A_ what—?! 

_A yearling doe. In the forest, some weeks ago. Kíli spared her life, and she... she stayed with him in a way. He often thinks about her. He feared— he feared that Nori would— with his bow—_

_He feared this so much that his spirit fled our world? Sweet Mahal._ Dís pinched the bridge of her nose. _And you sabotaged a hunt to save this animal?_

_Yes. I stepped on branches. I talked too loud. She would hear us coming and stay away._

She shook her head in amazement. _There must be more to this than you’re telling._

Epiphany seized Fíli roughly by the throat. There _was_ more. Whatever its name, he had tried to conceal it in order to save it, but he had only led it closer to danger— 

_I am waiting,_ said Dís. 

How much could he say without revealing anything? _She— it— the doe— means something to us,_ he ventured. _To me and Kíli alone. She is special. I can’t say why. I can’t explain._

_Perhaps not to me. But you had better try with Kíli. Your harshness hurt him very much. Think over what you want to say to him, then say it tonight._ Gently, _for he is ill. Heed me, Fíli._

_Yes, Mother. I will._

She left him standing alone in the chill moonlight.


	5. Mercy

_Brother, I am sorry._

_Brother, what are we doing?_

_Brother, forgive me; I want never to hurt you again._

_Brother, why do we talk to each other the way we do?_

_Brother, I’m frightened._

_Brother, will you look at me? Will you let me in?_

_Brother, will you leave me?_

_Brother, here is my hand, the hand of friendship._

_Brother, what is this ache deep in my chest?_

_Brother, don’t hide yourself, don’t be lost to me._

_Brother, do you feel as I feel?_

_Brother, why are we the way we are with each other?_

_Brother, forgive me, forgive me, please._

___________________

He knelt directly on the stones so that it would hurt. 

Only if his transgressions are great does a _nadad_ abase himself before his _naddith_ in this way. Through such a deliberate act, he shows the depth and intensity of his remorse. And he punishes himself, not merely with awareness of the wrongs he has inflicted, but with real, physical pain. 

A bitterly aggrieved _naddith_ might make the guilty one kneel there all night before granting absolution. But it was not in Kíli’s nature to be resentful; nor did he want his _nadad_ to suffer more. He immediately laid his blessing hand on Fíli’s head. 

Neither trusted themselves to open speech. Kíli allowed Fíli back into their bed, but once more, they slept facing opposite walls. And the next morning, for the first time in their lives, they awoke that way as well.


	6. Hiding

The ale festival ended; solstice approached. Promising many future visits – _Here or in Erebor!_ – Nori, Ori, and Gimli departed for their own homes. Dís resumed her carving and smithing; with many a grumble, Fenja hunted down the empty ale bottles that marked their erstwhile houseguests' paths of travel. 

Fíli and Kíli strayed back to the deer forest. 

Since their quarrel a fleet-footed despondency had pursued them. The numb repetition of every day – _rise and dress and eat because you must; sleep if you can; rise and start again_ – gave it purchase; it seemed they must keep moving or capitulate. 

Leaving at sunup, returning depleted at dusk, the brothers walked themselves weary. _Patrolling,_ they called it; naturally, one would not dream of doing this without the other. Their conflict drew them together, not because it was over and done, but because it belonged to no one else. They had always closed ranks in this way, jealously possessive even of their strife. 

But in what accord were they joined now? Even their doe sensed trouble in the wind and stayed away. 

That day they both wore old hoods and tunics of Thorin’s. Fíli’s tunic was overlong; it kept catching on brambles no matter how he doubled the fabric under his wide leather belt. It made him feel childish and small. But should it embarrass him to admit he craved the sort of help and comfort small ones seek? 

He sighed heavily, and Kíli heard him. _Shall we stop; are you tired?_ he asked— the first words either had spoken that day. 

_I am._

They found a protected hollow amidst the serpentine roots of an ancient oak. In a timid voice Kíli said, _Let me hold you?_ and Fíli nodded. 

In old days, a younger brother had a place meant just for him, tucked against his elder brother’s side. Even as they grew, nothing changed; Big still ran to Little; Little protected Big. It had always been that way and never any other. But now, as Kíli gathered Fíli to him and rested his chin on his head, Fíli felt a barrier come down inside him. He wanted this; he needed this. It was no crime to accept shelter freely given. He turned his face into the hollow of his brother’s throat and let the world go. 

There beneath the oak they huddled, safe for an hour from the shadow of the Lonely Mountain.


	7. Visitors

The landslide began as they trudged across the practice yard. There stood sour-faced Bhurin, decked out in a smart tunic with all of his hair ornaments on display. 

_Guests,_ he muttered. _Uninvited, unexpected, but important. Your mother’s with them in the great room. You’d best change for the occasion._

 _I think we’re well enough dressed for no notice,_ snapped Fíli. 

_That’ll teach them._

They spent the time it took to walk from yard to hall in argument. 

_Promise me,_ said Fíli. 

_Sss…stop worrying._

_I will never stop. Promise._

_I fff-feel well,_ replied Kíli, his stutter proclaiming otherwise. _I always tell you when I don’t._

 _What I worry is not that you won’t tell me, but that you won’t be able to,_ Fíli persevered. _If you can’t speak, you must signal, and I’ll take you away._

 _What about you? Www-what if your…_ Frustrated, Kíli pinched the bridge of his nose. _Your_ leg _hurts? What if you can’t stand up?_

 _You’ll carry me, like I’d carry you. Promise me._

_All right, Mim. I promise._

They entered the great room stone-faced and wary. Under the ikon of Durin stood Mother, hands folded at her waist. Arrayed on either side of her stood a large contingent of Khagal’abad aldermen and their wives. The collective buzz, which rivaled that of Kíli’s bees, ceased the moment Dís’ sons came into view. 

Coolly surveying their grass-stains and dust, Dís spoke not in cradle-speech but in politest Khuzdul. _I greet you, my sons._

Fíli managed to make the proper response – _You bless me with your greeting, my Mother_ – but Kíli flushed dark and said nothing at all. The visitors shuffled and frowned at this discourtesy, but Dís kept her impassive gaze trained on her eldest as she began the ritual welcoming. 

_I am Dís, daughter of Thráin, granddaughter of Thrór, sister of Thorin,_ she intoned in her strong, soaring voice. _I welcome you good Khazâd one and all to Thorinutumnu. Mahal brought us together and blesses the hour of our meeting. Let friendship weld us and no strife sunder us. May I present to you—_

One of the aldermen lurched forward and fell to one knee before Kíli. 

Anyone could have made the same mistake. Confronted with two Khazâd – one tall, stern, and dark like all Durins since time began; the other small, tawny, wary as a lynx and lagging behind – one could be forgiven for assuming in error. But at that moment, Kíli was concentrating _(please don’t let me fall down or laugh or cry or do or say something stupid, PLEASE)_ and when Kíli concentrated, he glowered. Surprise made him do it even more. Black eyes flared under black brows; people gasped. 

Dís strode forward, skirting the prostrate aldermen to reach Fíli's side. _May I present Durin’s Heir, my eldest—_

 _Just not her tallest,_ Fíli cut in bitterly. 

Dís squeezed her son’s wrist to the point of leaving fingermarks, an action at odds with the brittle smile nailed to her face. _Our esteemed guests have come many miles to offer obeisance to the Heir._ She gestured behind her. _Come and be well-met._

It was a disaster. 

Put plain, when bejeweled women curtsy like fawning girls, calling you _war hero_ and _our_ _king-to-be;_ when mink-collared men bask in the glory reflected in the spilled blood of your kin, it is difficult not to clench your jaw (if you are Fíli) or burst into wild, mirthless laughter (if you are Kíli). And then (if you are Mother) you must choose quickly whom to banish before things escalate. And since you cannot conceivably show your esteemed guests the door, you order the war hero and the king-to-be from the room like a pair of fractious children. 

_My lords and ladies, it seems that my sons are overcome by the honors you bestow,_ Dís announced. _We must allow them to gather themselves._ She shot a pointed glare at Fíli and Kíli, who turned to go without even bowing.


	8. Rage

Out in the practice yard, Kíli furiously heaved hand-axe after hand-axe at a wooden post. With every throw, he let out a strangled bellow. 

Fíli stood by, unspeaking. It was not wise to interpose oneself between Kíli and his rage. Not that he would ever hurt another; he’d be more likely to hurt himself, and Fíli would not risk this. But he could see that anger had completely overtaken Kíli; his aim was off. 

After the last throw, Kíli strode over to the target and yanked each blade from its mooring. With a tight-mouthed grimace, he walked over and thrust an axe handle into Fíli’s hand. 

For the next half-hour they took turns, trying with all their might to exorcise ill will. Shoulders aching, lungs burning, they chipped away at it until it was reduced to rubble and they could see clearly again through the dust. 

_Gold-hungry bb-bastards,_ Kíli declared at length. _They didn’t even support Uncle in his quest. N-now they rush to Erebor to get rrrr... rich._

_And here to curry favor from me,_ Fíli snarled. _I’ve never even seen them before. They know nothing about us and nothing about the war except that it made me King and might make_ them _wealthy._ He gave a stray clump of earth a vicious kick. _WE bled. WE took the blows. Uncle offered up his life. Not them._

_Not them,_ echoed Kíli. He gathered the axes together blade-up in a dangerous bouquet. _Now you’ve angered them. Per-perhaps they’ll depose you before you even begin._

Fíli snorted. _Would that I had the luck._


	9. Heir

That night – banished from both supper and Mother’s sitting room – they pilfered wine from the cellar, got drunk in their room, and quarreled again. 

This is how it started. 

_Those people,_ slurred Fíli. He’d already downed one bottle and was working on a second. _Bet Erebor is overrun w’ them. How d’you think we’ll fend them off, Zanid?_

Kíli mumbled something unintelligible at the floor. 

_What, brother?_

This time clear as crystal: _I’m not going to Erebor._

A pine knot snapped in the fire, releasing the scent of burnt resin. 

_What do you mean?_

_Haven’t you heard? That p-place is cursed,_ Kíli rasped into the mouth of his bottle before taking a long, spiteful pull. _It’s where Durins go to die._ He shook the bottle to gauge if anything was left in it, then raised it in mockery of a toast. 

_But… but you are my heir,_ Fíli protested. Never had he imagined Erebor – or any setting, for that matter – without Kíli; the thought of such a vacancy left him staggering. 

_You’ll take a wife and f-father your own heir. I’m sure it won’t be long._

Fíli flinched hard. _Thorin never married._

_So what? He had you. You need a son to carry on when you d— when you die. I will never be your heir because I www...won’t outlive you. Even a thousand miles away, I’ll know you’ve gone, and I’ll go, too. Mmm-maybe even at the same moment. But I swear to you I’ll never come to Erebor, so you might as well find a www-wife to keep you company there._

A white-hot needle piercing Fíli’s heart would not have hurt more. And yet, the way his brother’s voice had snagged so mournfully on the word _wife,_ as if that one syllable fought its way out through a tightening throat— 

_(Are you mad; what are you thinking?)_

_Give that here,_ Kíli said, reaching to snatch Fíli’s bottle out of his hand. 

_Get your own,_ Fíli replied, irritably pushing the last unopened bottle in his direction.

___________________

Later – still plastered, still angry – neither could find sleep. A hot bath, they figured, would draw the remnant poison from their hearts and thoughts. Loath to wake the servants, they shifted for themselves: Kíli fetched towels and robes from the anteroom while Fíli built a hearthfire and opened the sluice. 

He loved the first plunge, the swift descent, the sensation of being swallowed up, held and caressed by the heat. It only lasted a moment or two before the saltwater propelled him back to the surface. And then the long soak, head tipped back against the stone rim, letting the steam dissolve all the pain of body and mind. Normally it left Fíli feeling purified, but too much of that evening clung to him; he could not lose it in the depths. 

Otter-sleek Kíli surfaced with a toss of his head and took up his place opposite Fíli. His black brows had not yet relaxed from their ferocious scowl. Each inwardly daring the other to _say_ something, _do_ something, they glared at each other in silence while the water did its work.


	10. The High Sun

The white-hot ache struck Fíli again as the brothers stood side by side on the flagstones, wringing the water from their hair. 

Silhouetted against the hearthglow, Kíli’s wet body glimmered like molten gold. He turned away from Fíli, back muscles flexing as he coiled his damp hair into a knot. Still thin from long illness, he seemed so vulnerable. But undiminished, the strength and grace of him, brother, loyal battle-mate, loving friend…

_(How can I leave you, how can I lose you?)_

Because it would happen. They whom not even death could separate, who had never, no, not once, betrayed one another, would part. And Fíli would become King Under the Mountain— 

_(I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.)_

—and he would sit in regal solitude on an unwanted throne and grow old without Kíli— 

_(I can’t.)_

Kíli wavered on his feet. Without a thought, as he’d done a thousand times before, Fíli reached out to steady him. But without knowing it, he too had lost his balance. Something moved him, pulled him off center. It came to him with the force of a thrown punch that a part of him had wanted to die at the foot of that precipice, but a stronger part had wanted to live, and both of them were tied up in his love for Kíli. For if Kíli died, Fíli too would die– 

_(maybe even at the same moment)_

–and so long as Kíli lived– 

_(even a thousand miles away)_

–he would have a reason to do the same. 

He let his hands slip from Kíli’s shoulders to his hipbones and pressed his mouth against the curve of Kíli’s neck. 

So the first word of a new language was spoken. 

Hands still buried in the dripping spiral of his hair, Kíli went absolutely still. Fíli then enjoyed a privilege in the midst of panic: that of feeling Kíli’s pulse quicken by double under his lips. 

A strange and wholly new notion boiled up from deep within Fíli. He envisioned stepping close, slipping one hand up over Kíli’s flank, around his ribs, through the thicket of black hair over his beating heart, and the other hand down over his hard, flat abdomen, his loins; Kíli’s eyelids sliding closed, lips parting in surrender as they had in the forest that day, that day… 

_(steal you take you keep you)_

_(mine, for me)_

The very thought transformed him into a lit fuse. A furious blush engulfed his entire body, from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. If Kíli turned around at that moment, he would see his Nadad-Mim aglow like a coal in a brazier. 

With a stifled gasp, he let Kíli go and turned away to hide himself. 

Now came the longest and most agonizing moment in Fíli’s life, worse even than the fall that had fractured him. At least then he knew where he would land. Angrily he swept his hair over his shoulder, twisted it around and around as Kíli had, wrenching it tight so that it would hurt, so that it would— 

Warm breath, a brush of beard, the lightest press of lips just behind Fíli’s ear. 

_(Yes.)_

So the first reply was given, soft as a curl of steam. 

Taking him gently by the shoulders, Kíli turned him around; he laid his forehead against Fíli’s and let out a long sigh. For many minutes they shared breath, gripping each other’s arms to convey the intensity of their relief. But soon fingers loosened, hands relaxed, stroking collarbone, cupping cheek and nape of neck, flattening over heart. One rubbed his nose against the other’s; dry lips brushed once, then lingered. A surprised drawing-back: was it all right? Plaintive eyes met to affirm it. 

Mouths gently parting, shifting, melding, so soft and wet and new. Neither had ever kissed another before; when their tongues touched, both uttered little, pleading cries. At the end of the kiss (and before the start of another) they separated long enough to see one another refracted in a glory of tears and firelight. 

With the top of his head, Fíli butted at Kíli’s chin until he lifted it, exposing his throat; feeling Fíli’s open wet mouth on his skin, Kíli released a sobbing laugh and wove both hands through his sibling’s tangled curls. 

_Mim,_ he whispered. _Mim._

Closer and closer they came until, pressed together along the full length of their bodies, each finally felt what the other wanted him to know.


End file.
